Being Mediterranean

There are small details that denote the presence of the Mediterranean in the DNA. Its salt has been filtering into the interior and has become bone, so it is not necessary to have been born there to feel a reciprocal belonging. For each of us it means one thing, but there are several things that define us.

To have lived through the traffic jams on the way there: "How much longer?", "How much longer?", "When will we get there?", "Mom, Lucas is bothering me." "Don't bother your sister." "She has started." "Mom, tell her to stop."

Getting dizzy in the curves. Getting there. Park far away from the beach and walk loaded like mules: umbrella, cooler, bucket, shovel, the porexpan board that always broke. Drop everything and undress on the way to the water. To burn your feet.

The late paellas, the fried fish that one day we stopped eating with the awareness campaign to safeguard small species: "No small fish, thank you". The rosemary on grilled meat, fish, vegetables. The eternal hour and a half of digestion. Already? Already?

The little drink at the edge of the sea of the parents, that we have learned to imitate so well, the pain in the soles of our feet with the stones of the shore of Cadaqués, auch, auch, auch, auch. Having sunburned our skin over and over again; too bad, so many things we didn't know. The debate of "should I go in or not" because it is always a little too cold, but so crystal clear that bathing becomes inevitable. Half an hour of thinking about it with the water around your waist. Challenging yourself: if you jump in, she likes you. Goose bumps after the first dive. Swimming. Sinking. Saying to yourself: what a beautiful sea. Never stop hallucinating with its color and transparency.

The first advertising airplanes crossing the sky, hunting jellyfish, making castles, stealing castles, occupying castles, decorating castles, destroying castles! Burying oneself up to the neck, racing to the boll, hunting crabs, collecting colored crystals worn by the sea, ice cream in the afternoon, the smell of pine and fig trees, naps with the song of cicadas, the millions of books read in front of the sea, hurrying on the beach until the last ray of sunlight disappeared to return home.

The Sunday night traffic jams in the back of a hot car with the upholstery full of sand (what was that material that covered the foam rubber of the seats?), the siblings sleeping on top of each other.

There are small traits that define character. We, who love our sea and are learning more and more every day to take care of it and respect it, have made this collection of serene details that underline our Mediterranean personality.

The softness and innocence of washed cotton, smooth and screen-printed by hand. The blue or black stripes on a white background for mats, cushions and throws. The delicate finish of the stitching in blue tones on beige and black on white cushions. All in linen, our rounded and fresh linen, the material that knows the most about caresses and naps.